


Leave a Light on for Me

by ModernMyth



Series: The Years Burn [3]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon compliant through Ant-Man, Eventual Romance, F/M, Minor Character Death, Natasha-centric, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), references to comics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernMyth/pseuds/ModernMyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha has spent a lot of time thinking about how her reunion with Bruce may one day go. What she doesn't imagine or expect is the reality - showing up on his doorstep in Viti Levu eight months after he leaves, bleeding from a bullet lodged in the back of her shoulder. </p>
<p>Post-Age of Ultron, how Natasha and Bruce find their way back together and learn to take control of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE, Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that post-AoU BruceNat fic I promised to write nine months ago and never did? I started it then, but it got out of hand very quickly and turned into my now very long NaNoWriMo fic that is finally, finally seeing the light of day. This work is the third in a series, so please go back and read [Like a Mirror Reflecting Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4072588) and [Just Having Trouble Finding North ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4759823)\- they are both relevant to this story (and only one-shots, so go read them!) 
> 
> This is definitely a multi-chapter; the first draft is sitting at a little over 60,000 words right now, and there's still more to write, so...subscribe or whatever. We're going to be here for a while. I'll try for quick updates, but life happens, and this story is still in the editing stages. 
> 
> (Shout-out to tumblr user galentines for the beta. Go leave her love.)

**PART ONE**

 

**Chapter 1**

 

_Natalia Alianovna Romanova is seven years old, and she is sitting in a dark broom closet. She’s huddled in the corner, discreetly curling up behind a shelf full of cleaning supplies. She’s got her mouth covered with her palm, quieting her breathing as much as she possibly can. One of the guards is in the hallway outside the closet, screaming at one of the girls in a threatening, booming voice that Natalia has not quite gotten used to yet. She’d slipped into the closet just as the yelling started, wanting to remain unseen and avoid any potential fallout from the confrontation. One of the girls is about to be punished, and Natalia wants no part of it, wants to hide away. She crawled behind the shelf the second she closed the closet door behind her, and she has been hiding for the past five minutes as the screaming proceeds._

_Then she hears it, in between the sound of angry guards and a crying girl - a whimper from nearby. Natalia snaps her head around in surprise. She’d been certain she was the only person in here, but now she spots her - someone else, a little blonde girl hiding in the shelves on the opposite wall. Natalia recognizes her right away. She’s new, just arrived a few days ago. The girls had whispered about her at breakfast. It’s clear the new girl is terrified. She’s tiny, and trembling so badly the shelf is beginning to shake._

_Natalia tries to catch her eye. It’s dark, but the light creeping in from the crack under the door is providing them with just enough to see each other. She shakes her head at the girl, urging her to stay still, then she presses a finger to her lips and gestures for the girl to be quiet. The shelf stops shaking just in time; the man and girl outside fall into silence, and everything is silent. Natalia listens as their footsteps disappear, trying as hard as she can to be certain they have gone and that she and the blonde girl are truly alone. They wait a full minute in silence before they dare move. Natalia counts the seconds in her head._

_When a minute has passed in absolute quiet, Natalia stands and holds a hand out to the girl in the shelves, helping her get down as carefully and quietly as possible. She can feel the girl tremble against her, standing a few inches below Natalia. She’s still shaking with fear. Natalia understands. She herself does not tremble anymore. She stopped a few months ago. But Natalia still feels the fear._

_She whispers to the tiny blonde girl, “It’s okay, little one.”_

 

* * *

 

PRESENT DAY

 

Natasha has spent a lot of time thinking about how her reunion with Bruce may one day go. She's always known she would see him again eventually, but the possibilities and the imaginings of how it could happen have made her wonder for months on end. She tries not to think about it much, and she's pretty adept at pushing the thoughts aside the majority of the time. But Bruce Banner lingers. He's lingering with her more than anyone else ever has before, and his absence has left her feeling something akin to bereaved. Not full time, but in scattered moments, because she is Natasha Romanoff, and she is nothing if not capable of holding herself together and putting on a mask and getting the job done. And there's been a lot of work to do, training the New Avengers, and she is _okay_. The work is fulfilling, and her friendship with Steve has been strengthened by the work, which she has really learned to enjoy. But there are moments, through the months, little moments where she will think of Bruce, and she'll get caught with her shields down and will feel physically pained at the loss of what almost was.

He left her. She understands why, respects his reasons, and she will be just fine. She's always fine, in the end. But it still hurts, sometimes. He won't stay out of her life forever, she knows. He'll be back in some capacity one day. Aliens will invade or killer robots will attack or some other insanity where things are so desperate and hopeless that no one will survive without him. If the need for destruction ever becomes that great, Natasha knows he won't be able to stay away. So he'll be back one day. When things get truly dire. She's just got no idea how or when or where. And she wonders about it. A lot. Maybe they will fall into each other's arms and embrace (unlikely, she thinks). Maybe he'll be pissed - and justifiably so, she knows deep down (much more likely, she acknowledges). Or maybe she'll wind up yelling at him for disappearing (she thinks this is just as likely; she is still more than a little bitter at the way things ended between them).

What she doesn't imagine or expect is the reality - Natasha showing up on his doorstep in Viti Levu eight months after he leaves, bleeding from a bullet lodged in the back of her shoulder.

Her voice cracks when she speaks the first words she’s said to him since the quinjet video feed.

"I need help."

It kills her to ask because she really does not want Bruce Banner's help. Not now. She's been planning on waiting, letting him come to her when he’s good and ready. She hopes he has forgiven her for pushing him, making him transform into the Hulk. She's certain he at least knows her well enough to understand her reasoning, but she also knows she took away his choice in the matter away, which isn't something she takes lightly. Natasha doesn’t regret her actions from that day. They had needed him in the field, and she thinks that Bruce knew it deep down, too. But she _did_ still shove him off a ledge after kissing him, and she knows that he's allowed to be pretty angry about that, too.

He's the one that left, though, so she wanted him to be the one to make the first move. But now she’s bleeding and in Fiji and needs somewhere to lie low for a couple of days while she recovers.

Bruce doesn't say anything when he opens the door and she asks for help, but he does stare at her for several long moments with something akin to yearning. He looks visibly startled by her sudden appearance, taking in the blood-stained clothes she's wearing with a deep frown. He nods and ushers her inside without speaking a word.

"Take off your shirt," is the first thing he says to her after a long moment.

It reminds her of earlier times when he would put his foot in his mouth, bumbling through accidental innuendos on rooftops and in Stark’s labs. But this time Bruce's face doesn't flush, and he doesn't stutter out an embarrassed apology. He's given up on pretense now, it would seem. Natasha raises her eyebrows somewhat amusedly at the remark. Bruce doesn't see it, though, because he's reaching for the first aid kit he's got stashed under the sink in his kitchen. She does as he says, pulling her shirt over her head, and he turns back to her, eyes fixed on the wound that mars her flesh.

Bruce adds, "That looks nasty."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Natasha replies. And it's not. It certainly hurts, and she can't dig the bullet out herself as it's just above her shoulder blade, but the wound isn’t very deep. The way blood is streaked around her body and clothes makes it look much worse than it is in actuality. The wound will only turn life threatening if she can’t get the bullet removed and patched up sometime within the next several hours.

She takes a moment to really look at him. He’s a little tanner from the extra sun exposure, a little leaner like he hasn’t been eating quite as well, clad in an oversized button-up and jeans. His hair has gotten longer, and she thinks he has probably only cut it once or twice since she last saw him. He has shadows under his eyes, looking a bit run down. But all in all, he still looks good. Like _Bruce_.

He gestures to a chair in the kitchen, and she sits by the table as he brings over the medical supplies.

He reaches for the suturing thread, and Natasha asks, "Got any big ass tweezers?"

Frowning, he replies, "The bullet's still in there?"

Natasha nods. "It's not deep, don't worry. You won't have to dig for it. But I can't do it myself."

Bruce sterilizes a pair of what appear to be surgical pliers, and he asks a little too casually, "How long have you known where I am?"

She purses her lips and pauses before responding. "Going on six months."

"So pretty much the whole time,” he replies dryly.

"It's been eight."

"Give or take a few weeks."

He turns to grab something from the sink. Bruce returns to her side a moment later with a warm towel and a sterile wipe. Gently, he starts to wipe the blood from her wound, and she's reminded of simpler times - years ago, now, when he’d helped patch her up in the labs of Avengers Tower and she could still count the number of times they'd been alone together on one hand.

"I don't have anything to numb the area," he warns her in a low, sympathetic voice.

She'd shrug if it wouldn't jostle her shoulder. "I'll be fine. I've had worse."

It's an echo of an old conversation, a shadow of talks they've had time and time again. Before. The reminder of their shared history after all these months is startling, and it rattles her more than a little.

"As usual, not reassuring."

Natasha is glad that he has at least picked up on the reminder.

"Thanks for doing this," she says as he reaches for the pliers and brings them toward the back of her shoulder.

"I don't think you'll be thanking me in a second," he replies dryly.

It hurts like hell when he clamps down on the bullet and pulls it free, and Natasha has to forcibly control her breathing and not make a pained noise. She thinks the all-too-calculated look on her face must betray her, though, because Bruce looks more hurt by it than she does, wincing and taking a sharp breath as he yanks the bullet free. Natasha curls her hand around the chair she's sitting on when he starts to stitch up the wound, and she focuses on other things, instead - the messy state of his open living room/kitchen combo, the sink full of empty mugs, the clutter of books on the coffee table that houses a few titles she recognizes and more that she doesn't.

"You okay?" he asks when he's finished with the last stitch.

She nods. "I'll be fine. Thanks, Bruce."

Natasha hates the way his name feels foreign on her tongue. She hasn't said it in months, even if she has thought it over and over like her favorite song on repeat.

Bruce leaves the room for a moment without explanation, and Natasha wonders briefly if she's being silently dismissed in an ultimate act of passive aggression. Of all the reactions she'd considered receiving, she didn't think completely ignoring her would be part of any of them. But he returns a couple minutes later carrying a fuzzy blue bath towel and some clothing.

"You can use my shower, if you want," he says and hands over the items. "Since you're sort of still…" he gestures vaguely at her with his hand.

"Covered in blood?" she finishes. 

"Yeah," he agrees quietly, and Natasha wonders if it's her wounded state that has shaken him or if it is simply her sudden presence in his home.

"Thank you," she replies, and she takes the clothing and towel and heads in the direction she saw Bruce just exit from.

The house isn't large. The door leads into his bedroom, and there's an attached bathroom that she thinks is probably the only one in the place. The small house suits him, she decides. It looks well lived-in, and he seems relatively settled here. By his standards, at least, but she knows without a shadow of a doubt that he must have a go bag stashed somewhere here - probably under the bed - full of necessary items like cash and clothes and passports and maybe a gun in case he ever needs to make a quick getaway. She has a similar bag in her closet bedroom in her place upstate.

Natasha turns the knob on the shower and steps under the gentle spray, watching as the blood starts to wash away and turn the water pink at her feet before it drains. She wonders what will be waiting for her outside the bedroom door when she towels herself dry fifteen minutes later and changes into one of Bruce's t-shirts and a baggy pair of sweatpants. They haven't talked yet really, just a few jilted sentences while taking care of more pressing matters - like the fact that she was just bleeding out in the middle of his kitchen. But now she's clean and changed and no longer in mortal peril, and she has to wonder what questions he'll have ready to ask her. What his reaction will be like now that he's no longer worried about saving her life.

When she heads back into the living room a moment later, Bruce is holding a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. He fills them and hands one to her as she approaches, and she joins him on the couch.

He shrugs at her questioning quirked brow and says, "Figured it would help with the pain."

 _Which kind?_ she wonders idly, because the stilted awkwardness that has settled between them is starting to feel much more painful than the bullet wound.

"Cheers," she says in a flat tone when she holds up her glass in salute and swallows it.

"That help?"

The ' _you tell me_ ' is ready on her lips, but she holds the words back and replies instead with a simple, "Yes."

Bruce nods.

There is an uncomfortable silence, and she sighs.

It's another long moment before Bruce finally speaks up. "What are you doing here, Natasha?"

He sounds tired.

She feels suddenly defensive. "What? I can't visit a friend?"

"Is that what I am to you?" he asks, and his voice has now taken on a slightly biting tone. "A friend?"

Natasha swallows hard. "No. Not really." Then she adds, because she can't seem to help it now that this conversation has finally started, "Friends _talk_."

Bruce smiles at her, but it's not gentle or pleasant in the least. He hasn’t looked at her with this much bitterness in years. "Were we ever really friends to begin with?"

The question hurts. She became closer with Bruce Banner than she ever had with another person in her life, and now he wants to pretend that they were never even _friends_?

Natasha keeps her face blank, but she lets the hurt leak into her tone. "I thought we were. Excuse me if I was mistaken."

Bruce shakes his head and backtracks quickly. He actually sounds apologetic now. "No, Natasha…I only meant, have we ever really been _only_ friends?"

She forcibly holds back a sigh of relief. "No. Maybe not."

It's not like before. Things were verbalized and actualized between them all those months ago when everything went down with Ultron, and they can't pretend that this thing between them wasn't more than friendship. It was undeniably romantic, their feelings for each other. It had been easy to hide behind that guise of friendship, before. Friends can hold hands and hug and even flirt a little. But friends don't kiss passionately and decide to run away together. They can't fall back on their old dynamic because it has been completely obliterated. Natasha had hoped when their dynamic finally shifted that they could have something _good_ and they could have it together. But then he ran, and all her hope for their own personal brand of a semi-fucked up happy ending disappeared without a trace when he did.

Bruce nods, and he looks tired. “So what are you doing here, exactly?”

“In Fiji or in your living room?”

He doesn’t look amused.

She answers, “Solo mission. Looking into some potential HYDRA activity. But it turned out to be a dead end.”

“A dead end that led to you getting shot?”

She purses her lips. “Well, _maybe_ not a dead end. I’m honestly not sure anymore. There was nothing there to link to HYDRA. Doesn’t mean they’re the ones that shot me. I’ve got a long list of enemies.” She adds at his look of concern, “Don’t worry, I made sure I wasn’t followed here. I wouldn’t compromise you like that.”

“You don’t know who shot you?”

“Not so much.”

Bruce presses his lips into a thin line. “Shit. Natasha...”

“There are a lot of people in the world that want me dead. You’ve always known that. You don’t need to worry about this.”

He sighs.

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and neither of them seems to know how to fill it. She doesn’t want to be here, not really, not if _this_ is what it’s going to be like. The painful reminder of exactly how much things have changed between them is getting more unpleasant with every passing moment. But it’s getting late, and she’s still healing, and she doesn’t have anywhere else to go right now.

She snags the bottle of vodka from the counter and pours herself another shot, swallowing it in one go.

“Your vodka’s shit, Banner.”

He almost smiles in response, at least looks vaguely amused by the insult.

Bruce shrugs. “Limited resources.”

She pours herself another, anyway.

Natasha takes the shot, and they again sit in silence, air charged uncomfortably between them. She wants an out, an excuse to part ways, and she is glad she doesn’t have to feign the yawn she lets out a few moments later.

“Tired?” Bruce asks, and he looks relieved at the opportunity for them to leave each other’s presence. Natasha hates it, even if she is feeling the same way.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Haven’t slept in a while.”

 _A while_ is actually going on two days now, but there’s no need for _him_ to know that.

“You should get some sleep.”

She nods. “I can take the couch.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to do that, Natasha. You can take the bed, it’s fine. You’re the one who really needs the rest.”

“Which I can do perfectly well on the couch.”

Bruce sighs. “Just take the bed, Nat.”

She narrows her eyes. She wants to fight him on this, but she knows she has no valid reason. She just wants to pick a fight with him because she’s not done being mad at him yet. She’s irritable, and her shoulder hurts, and the familiarity of the nickname he just used for her makes her want to smack him. Just the sight of him is hurting her right now, and she feels inclined to argue with just about anything he says. Natasha shakes herself.

“Fine,” she agrees. “Just for the night.”

He sighs in relief at her acquiescence.

“Just for the night,” he echoes.

She pushes the bottle of vodka back towards him and leaves for his room. Natasha climbs into the bed and wishes she’d been able to take the couch, instead. She doesn’t want to be where he sleeps every night. It’s too intimate, too familiar, and the pillow smells like _Bruce_. It makes her think of that night on the farm when they’d shared a bed together. What it was like to lay her head on his chest and simply rest. It had been such a nice night, even after the horrors they’d endured during the day. It was the embodiment of hope, a final fleeting moment of gentility before everything turned to shit. Now the memories leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

Natasha sighs and tries to ignore the scent of him surrounding her as she falls into an uneasy sleep.

 

 


	2. PART ONE, Chapter Two

**Chapter 2**

She wakes two hours later with an ache in her shoulder and a dry mouth. She briefly regrets the smallness of the house; it hadn’t bothered her earlier, and she’s sure Bruce hasn’t minded it until now, but it’s not particularly easy to avoid someone when there are three full rooms in the whole place. She stays in the bedroom for a while, trying to get back to sleep, but it’s no use. Her shoulder is really hurting, and she’s feeling dehydrated.

Natasha leaves the room quietly, heading to the kitchen. Bruce is asleep on the couch across the room, breathing even and body still. But he shifts and lets out a grumble when she grabs a glass from a kitchen cabinet and fills it with water. She frowns. Natasha may be pissed at him right now, but she knows he’s not a person who sleeps easily, and she hates to wake him.

Bruce sits up, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry,” Natasha says quietly from her place in the kitchen. “I needed water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice comes out gravelly, and he clears his throat. “I would’ve woken up soon, anyway. How long have you been awake?”

She takes a sip of water. “A while.”

“Trouble sleeping?”  

Her lips settle into a smirk. “No rest for the wicked.”

Bruce gives her a calculating look. “I have some painkillers if your shoulder is bothering you.”

She briefly considers passing on the meds. The dull throb has been serving as a nice distraction from her other problems and worries. But it’s also keeping her awake, and she really is exhausted.

Natasha nods. “Yeah. That would be nice. If you don’t mind.”

He nods and opens a cabinet below the sink, grabbing a bottle of pills and handing it to her.

She grabs a couple and swallows them with a gulp of water. They’re both silent, standing uncomfortably in the kitchen together, not knowing what to say. She hates the way they are now, labored conversation and uneasy air about them. Natasha can’t help but think back to a different time in a different kitchen, the pair of them eating breakfast and sharing the intimate details of their lives with each other over eggs in Avengers Tower. She’d told him about the Red Room that morning, and Bruce had told her about his father and the horrors that came with growing up with him. It was the closest she’d ever felt to another person. Now they’re standing in his kitchen and can barely speak a word between them. It hurts to think about.

Natasha clears her throat. “Thanks for…” she gestures to the pill bottle and passes it back to him.

“No problem.”

“Look,” she starts, feeling sick of the awkwardness between them. “I don’t have to stay. I can get out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

Bruce shakes his head hurriedly. “No. You don’t need to do that, Natasha. You just got _shot_. I’m not about to kick you out.”

“You got the bullet out and stitched me up, which was what I needed. I’ll be fine, Bruce. Besides, I heal fast.”

He gives her a knowing look. “I’ve noticed.”

Natasha blinks. She doesn’t have super advanced healing, nothing incredibly impressive compared to some truly enhanced people out there. But she’d been injected with enough serums in the Red Room that she does have somewhat accelerated healing. It’s hardly miraculous, just takes a little less time than the average human, but she won’t be needing these stitches a few days from now.

“I see.”

“You don’t actually have very many secrets from me, Natasha.”

The statement would have made her smile affectionately eight months ago. Now it makes her want to throw something.

She replies, “You don’t have many secrets from me, either.”

He nods slowly. “Have I ever?”

Natasha frowns. “Just because I did my research before tracking you down in India doesn’t mean you didn’t have secrets. I was _referring_ to the fact that you used to _talk_ to me, Banner.”

“You used to talk to me too, you know.”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

In fact, she remembers all too well. It’s what’s making this so difficult, this complete lack of intimacy between them. Like she doesn’t know him, like he’s some stranger in her life. It guts her. It’s why she wants to go.

“I can still leave tomorrow, if need be,” she tells him.

Bruce shakes his head. “You don’t even know who shot you, and you’re still healing.”

“Still. I’d be fine. You know that.”

He gives her an incredulous look. “Is it really so hard for you to be around me that you’d rather be out there, where unknown people are trying to _kill_ you?”

She laughs, and she can hear her bitterness in it. “At least that’s something I’m _used_ to.”

Her response gives him pause, and he looks at her sadly.

“Natasha,” he starts after a moment. “We should...we need to _fix_ this.”

“This?”

“ _Us_. Even if we can never get back to...whatever we were...we should at least _talk_. I don’t want things to be like this between us. It’s the last thing I want.”

She doesn’t like it either, the way things are between them. She’s still angry, still hurting, but she wants to make things right between them.

Natasha lets her mask drop for a moment, gaze wistful and a little sad, and she nods.

“I don’t want this, either,” she admits. “You’re right. We should...talk.”

“Good.” He glances toward the couch.

She frowns. “Can it wait until morning, though? I’m not trying to avoid it, It’s just that...I haven’t really slept in days and kind of feel like I’m going to pass out here in the kitchen if I don’t get some real sleep.”

He looks at her sympathetically. “Of course,” he responds. “Go rest. We can leave it for morning.”

“Goodnight,” she tells him in a quiet, tired voice before departing to the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Natasha wakes six and a half hours later, a dull throb remaining in her shoulder but feeling much more refreshed. She dreads leaving the room to have the conversation she is going to have with Bruce, not wanting to lower her defenses before him again. She’d done that before, let him in and honestly talked to him, and then he’d left. She doesn’t want to go through it again, but she knows they need to talk things out, for both of their sakes. She may be mad, but she’s also missed him greatly. She’d gotten so used to his presence, getting to spend time with him, that when he’d left it’d been like losing a small part of herself. It took weeks before she stopped expecting to run into him in the kitchen, before she stopped habitually wandering towards the lab. He was like a phantom limb, lingering even in his absence. She’s missed his presence in her life, the steady reliability of him. She wants it back, even with the anger she feels.

She heaves a sigh, climbing out of the bed and quickly washing up in the bathroom, then she heads hesitantly into the living room. Bruce is already awake, sitting on the couch and reading a book, steaming mug of tea on the table in front of him.

Bruce looks up and adjusts his glasses.

“Morning, Natasha.”

The air is a little more comfortable between them now, with the knowledge that they’re going to talk things out and try and fix this mess they’ve made.

“Tea’s in the kitchen,” he continues, “If you want some.”

Natasha nods and pours herself a mug full. She’d prefer coffee, but she’ll take what she can get. She joins him in the living room a moment later, sitting opposite him on the couch and curling her legs underneath her.

“Reading anything interesting?” she asks eventually.

He holds up the large book he’s reading.

She huffs a laugh. “ _Atlas Shrugged_ , huh? If you’re going to go with classics, at least go with _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_.”

It’s a bit of a slight, she knows, but he seems amused enough by her statement. He always has seemed to appreciate her morbid sense of humor. He’s got the same acerbic wit, even if he doesn’t show it quite so often.

“Yeah well,” he says, “I left my copy of that, along with _Frankenstein,_ back in New York.”

She smirks in response.

Bruce closes the book, places it on the table, and turns to face her.

“So…” he starts.

“So…” she echoes.

He goes in for the kill.

“Were you ever really planning on coming with me?”

She schools her features carefully and restrains herself from taking a sharp breath.

But he can see she has her shields up, knows a little too well when she’s being guarded with him. Right now, she would seem natural and unaffected to anyone but him. He’s seen the real her too many times.

“The truth. _Please_ , Natasha.”

She knows what he means. He wants her to be _her_ , not to wear a mask for this conversation, because the only way they’ll solve any of this is with honesty. It’s just something she’s still working on. The loss of real trust between them is making this whole emotional intimacy thing a lot more difficult than it had seemed in the weeks before his departure.

Natasha drops the mask.

“Yes,” she answers simply. “I was.”

He gives her a slightly disbelieving look. “Really? You wanted to come?”

She gives him a sad smile. “I wanted to be with _you_.”

He looks a little pained at the response, regret mingled with longing.

She continues, “I would’ve gone with you. I wasn’t lying about that.”

Bruce nods slowly, taking in the information.

He asks after a long moment, “Would you have stayed?”

She frowns and answers as truthfully as she can. “I don’t know.”

Natasha wants to think she would have, and she knows she would’ve had a hell of a reason to do so, but she knows who she is and what she wants now, and she’s uncertain if she would have been able to last with Bruce, out of the fight. He makes her happy, but she wants too many things to be satisfied with a life that doesn’t involve doing what she’s great at.

Bruce swallows in response to her answer, looks at her like he wants to know more, but he doesn’t ask. She wants to explain, though, so she clears her throat and squares her shoulders.

“I’ve spent the majority of my life having my choices made for me,” Natasha starts. “I traded in the Red Room and KGB for S.H.I.E.L.D. and immediately started taking orders from someone else. Ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, I’ve been trying to figure out who I really am and what I really want. If I’m only a fighter because I was _made_ to be. If that’s really the life that I want. But the thing is, I’ve figured it out, Bruce. Being an Avenger, saving the world, fighting with a team of great people by my side...that _is_ what I want. Not because I was raised and trained to be in the fight. I want it for _me_.”

“I understand.” He looks at her carefully. “You wouldn’t have stayed for too long.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs noncommittally. “I would’ve had a pretty compelling reason to stay.”

He gives her a sad smile. The phrasing of her statement isn’t lost on him.

“Natasha…” He carefully arranges his expression, looking at her seriously.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really happy that you’ve figured out what you want. That’s incredible. I’m, uh, proud of you. I know how long you’ve been trying to figure things out.”

She feels tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them back before Bruce can notice. If anyone knows what she’s been going through, how she’s been feeling since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, it’s him. She’s glad he appreciates the significance of what she’s told him.

Natasha swallows hard. “Thank you.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Bruce runs his hand over the back of his neck. He looks like he wants to say something but is restraining himself.

“What?” she asks, urging him on.

“You really wanted to come?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. She’d been so mad earlier, still is to a degree, but she can’t help but find his desperate need for that to be the truth, for the confirmation that she had wanted to be with him, endearing. She’d known how he felt, that he had feelings for her whether he overtly expressed them or not, but with the way he up and left, things felt a little one-sided on her end, rational knowledge aside. He’d never really confessed his feelings - not that she had, either, in so many words, but she’d been the one to instigate the roleplay and offer to run with him and pull him into a searing kiss. It left her feeling a little like things were unrequited, even if she knew objectively that wasn’t true. It was just a case of bad timing. Bad timing and too many complex issues between them. But it’s kind of nice to feel validated now, all the same.

She nods. “I wanted to. I thought you knew how I...felt.”

_Felt_ is kind of a lie because it implies a past-tense, a time where the present means she no longer feels the same way about Bruce. She may still be pissed at him for leaving, but that hasn’t undone what she feels. But the past-tense feels safer as it rolls off her tongue.

He scoots closer to her and takes her hand, resting his palm on top of hers and squeezing lightly.

“I did. I admittedly found it hard to believe you would want to be with me, but I _knew_ , Natasha. How you felt. And I…” He takes a shaky breath. “I felt the same about you.”

She pulls her hand away from his and stands up, taking a deep breath.

“Funny way of showing it,” she says simply. She knows he’s not expecting the response, and he looks disappointed at the loss of contact.

“Natasha…”

She shakes her head. “You left. You _disappeared_. No goodbye. Couldn’t have spared a postcard? ‘Dear Natasha, I’m fine. Have a nice life. Regards, Bruce.’ You could have said _something_.”

Bruce sighs. “I was angry, Natasha.”

“I know that,” she replies evenly.

“You _pushed_ me.” Anger drips into his voice. “You pushed me off a ledge and made me transform into the thing that you know I hate the most after you told me you were going to run away with me.”

Natasha clenches her fist against her thigh. “I know, Bruce. I know I took away your choice in the matter away. Trust me, it’s not a decision I made lightly. I know what that’s like, and I’m _sorry_ I did that to you. No one deserves that. I’m _sorry_ I hurt you. I just couldn’t…”

She trails off, considering how to phrase her feelings.

He completes the thought for her, “Couldn’t leave the job unfinished?”

She feels a sense of fondness for him in that moment, for understanding her so inherently, even now.

Natasha nods. “I couldn’t leave when the city was still falling apart around us. There were still lives to save. We needed the Other Guy. _I_ needed him. He saved my life, you know.”

He ignores and pushes past her ending statement. “I understand why you did it, Nat. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

“I know. And I understand why you left. Doesn’t mean _it_ didn’t hurt.”

Bruce adjusts his glasses and sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha gives him a pointed look. “For which part?”

“Leaving without saying goodbye. Completely disappearing. Not at least letting you know I was okay.”

She sits back down, leaving a cushion’s space between them and folding her hands in her lap.

“I needed to go,” he adds. “You get that, right?”

“I do. I know you needed to get away.”

“I _can’t_ lose control, Natasha. I can’t allow it to ever happen again.”

“Your control was getting better. You were getting there. _Before_.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t rely on someone else to keep me calm. The lullaby…it worked,” he breathes the admission, like part of him still can’t believe that Natasha Romanoff had been able to get through to the Hulk and help him transition back. “But it was too dangerous, Nat. It’s not a permanent solution. We learned that well enough.”

She knows he’s thinking of Johannesburg, of when she’d had her mind invaded and warped by Wanda Maximoff, and she’d been unable to help with a lullaby for the Big Guy. And she can’t deny that he’s right; the lullaby _isn’t_ a permanent solution. Bruce still can’t control the Hulk on his own, and the lullaby only works when she’s able to do it. She’s always known he’d never feel truly comfortable relying on that forever. Then Johannesburg happened, and all his fears were realized.

“It’s safer for me to stay away,” he says simply.

She disagrees, still thinks he can find control eventually, that he will always be a key member of the Avengers. That he is of enormous value. But it’s not an argument she’ll win, she knows. Bruce needs to learn to fight _with_ the Hulk. And he’s not there yet.

There’s a moment’s silence, less uncomfortable now.

Bruce clears his throat. “Natasha…”

She meets his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I really missed you.”

He’s looking at her imploringly, like he’s praying that she’ll believe him and read the truth of his statement in his eyes.

She feels her expression soften.

Her voice is a whisper when she replies. “I really missed you, too.”

She feels raw at the admission, more vulnerable than she would like, even if he has seen her much more unguarded than this. But the distance between them lingers, ever the slightest, after all the months.

Natasha swallows hard and continues, tone lightening. “You know who else missed you? Stark. You should really send him an email or something. He’s been hopeless without you, especially with all the travelling Pepper’s been doing. Honestly, the guy is completely intolerable when you’re not there to keep him in line.”

Bruce smiles slightly. “Tony will be fine.”

Natasha’s less certain, thinks Tony has likely missed Bruce as much as she has, but she’s never really understood their friendship to begin with, so she shrugs it off, vowing to come back to it later.

“Whatever you say.”

Her stomach growls after a few moments, much to both of their surprise, and it’s not until then that Natasha remembers she hasn’t eaten in nearly 48 hours. She’s been far too distracted by the bullet wound and being in Bruce’s presence to notice.

“Hungry?” Bruce asks, looking a touch amused.

“Apparently,” she responds dryly.

He stands and heads toward the kitchen. “Eggs okay?”

“Sure,” she agrees with a hint of a smile.

Their plates are dished up twenty minutes later, and Natasha is glad they’ve finally accomplished the art of companionable silence again as they eat.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” Bruce asks after they’ve finished their food and washed their dishes.

“Better,” Natasha replies. “Still sore, but a huge improvement from yesterday.”

“Need more painkillers?”

She shakes her head.

“That bandage probably needs changing.”

Natasha nods her acquiescence and pulls off the large t-shirt Bruce had supplied her with the day before, sitting in nothing but oversized sweatpants at the kitchen table. He grabs his medical kit and sets to work, calloused fingers gently skating across her skin. Natasha wraps her arms around her knees and suppresses a shiver.

“Looks like the healing’s started already,” he tells her before applying another bandage. “These stitches can probably come out in a couple days at this rate.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She pulls her shirt back over her head and turns to him. “Speaking of patching people up...what exactly have you been up to? I figured you’d be helping the sick and injured. Don’t you have a job to be at or something?”

Bruce shrugs. “Told the clinic I need a couple days off.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“And leave you alone in my house?" He takes on a mild, teasing tone. "What about the good china?”

Natasha smirks. “I think your plasticware is safe, doc.”

“Though speaking of leaving…”

She tenses, waiting for the blow, expecting him to tell her to go, even after talking through so many of their issues.

Bruce continues, “I need to go to the market. Now that we’ve eaten the last of the eggs, we’ve pretty much only got bread and water left. I should probably go buy some food.”

Natasha relaxes at the statement.

“Probably a good idea,” she agrees.

He excuses himself, going to his room to shower and change, leaving Natasha in the kitchen. She heads into the open living room with another mug of tea and curls up on the couch, eyeing the laptop on the table in front of her curiously as Bruce gets ready.


	3. PART ONE, Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I just started a new job, and I recently broke my computer, so...life's been getting in the way. Here's chapter three, where the story finally earns it's mature rating. Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

 

Bruce leaves the house twenty minutes later, telling her he’ll be back soon. She takes advantage of his absence by grabbing the laptop off his coffee table and opening it. She connects to the internet through several different proxies and various other shields, using every resource she’s got to hide her actions. She’s careful, extremely careful to stay undetectable. Natasha needs to let Steve and Fury know that she’s okay; she was supposed to check in yesterday evening, and if they don’t hear from her soon, they’ll send someone out to find her. She shoots a message to Steve and CC’s Fury, carefully hiding her location for Bruce’s sake. If it were up to her, she’d let them know exactly where she is, but she knows Bruce still wants his privacy. She has to respect that, even if she hates it. Fury probably knows where she is, anyway. He’d been the one to find the quinjet, and she’d tracked down Bruce’s location months ago, after all. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where she would go when she ran into trouble nearby.

When Bruce returns an hour and a half later, arms full of groceries, Natasha is curled up on the couch with his laptop, researching exactly who in the hell may have shot her.

He drops his groceries when he sees her with his computer, a dark look spreading across his features.

Natasha quickly shakes her head, knowing what he’s thinking. She closes the laptop and puts it back on the table in front of her.

“I covered my tracks. You’re still untraceable, I swear.”

He looks for a moment like he doesn’t believe her, looks angry with her again after all the work they’ve done today.

She continues, looking at him imploringly. “Bruce, I’m a ghost. I _promise_. I’m taking every precaution. No one’s going to find you.”

“You did.”

“I did,” she agrees after a moment. “But I knew what I was looking for. And I’m damn good at my job.”

He sighs resignedly. “You took precautions?”

“All of them. I may want you to come home, but I’m not going to force you out of hiding, Bruce. I know you don’t want to be found. You didn’t really want to be found by me in the first place.”

“Natasha…”

“No, I get it, I knew you didn’t want that. I’m not complaining, I’m just saying that I...understand. I’m sorry about using your computer, but I don’t exactly have mine on me, and I can’t turn on my phone if you don’t want everyone getting wind of exactly where I am. And if I didn’t check in with Steve, he would’ve sent in the cavalry to bail me out of trouble.”

Bruce nods, still looking a little wary, and he joins her in the kitchen.

“Natasha…” he starts again.

She turns to him.

“You’re right that I didn’t want to be found, before. But…”

Hope rises in her chest; she finds it’s a feeling she hasn’t experienced in a while.

Bruce continues, “I _am_ glad you found me.”

She takes a step closer to him, relieved. “Yeah?”

He nods and says seriously, “I meant it when I said I missed you.”

Natasha gives a small, tentative half-smile.

“I did, too.” She clears her throat. And II tried pretty hard not to. I didn’t want to miss someone who didn’t want me around. But I couldn’t help it. I’d never... _never_ missed someone like that before.”

“Really?” Bruce gives her a slightly disbelieving look, but hopeful all the same. “Never?”

She shakes her head. “Not like that. Never quite so...intensely. But that would make sense,” she adds with a shrug. “Considering.”

Bruce looks at her, confused and curious. “Considering what?”

“I’ve never really done this before.”

“This?” He seems to need clarification.

“You know.” She gestures between the pair of them. “The whole romantic relationship thing. Not that we really…” she takes a breath. “Well, you know what I mean.”

This seems to stun Bruce for a moment. “Really? You hadn’t...I didn’t…” He pauses. “I hadn’t realized.”

Natasha shrugs, crossing her arms in front of her a bit defensively. “I spent my formative years in the Red Room, then went on to become a full time spy and assassin for the next decade or so. Who was I going to fall for? My targets? My marks? My married partner? The nice civilian barista who makes my Americanos?”

Bruce nods, processing the information. “Right. I guess you were a bit lacking in opportunity, huh?”

“A bit,” she agrees. “Though even if opportunity had arisen...it likely wouldn’t have happened until then, anyway. You know I...changed, after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.”

“You did,” he agrees carefully.

“I don’t think I would have been able to open myself up to someone like that, before. Not enough to…” she trails off, unwilling to truly verbalize what it is she feels for him. He knows what she’s trying to say.

“Well…” Bruce lets out a long breath. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees readily, a small smile spreading across his face. “You’re a pretty incredible person to get to know.”

Natasha’s feels her lips twitch and curl upward at the statement.

“Getting to know you wasn’t so bad, either.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Glad to hear it.”

Natasha glances over his shoulder, toward the door.

“Those groceries should probably go in the fridge.”

Bruce blinks, distracted, and it takes him a moment to focus on her words.

He shakes himself, looking behind him, then nods, crossing the room and grabbing the groceries. Natasha moves to help him, taking a loaf of bread from his arms and placing it on the counter as he heads to the refrigerator. The kitchen is small, though, and Natasha winds up pressed against him, her front to his back, as Bruce takes a step backward to close the fridge.

They both pause for a moment, and she can feel the coiled tension within him, the way he’s holding himself back from acting. Then he steps forward minutely and slowly turns his face to hers. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated, his jaw set and tense. Natasha watches the way he restrains himself, just on the edge of loosening the reins on his control.

Then she’s pressing her palm to his chest, sliding her hand upward, coming to rest against his heart. It’s not a calculated move, but it’s more than enough to urge him on. Bruce locks eyes with her, brings a hand up to cup her cheek, and presses his lips to hers. She can feel his heart thump beneath her hand before she wraps her arms around his neck and moves her lips against his. The kiss is urgent, his lips warm and pliable and a little chapped against hers. They’ve got more time to draw this out than they had during their first kiss, but this feels more frantic somehow, the pair of them having waited for this moment for so long. There was a time, once, that Natasha had imagined a life where kissing Bruce Banner could be commonplace, unsurprising and steady in her life. But then they spent eight months apart with no contact, and now she can’t seem to help the way she sinks into the kiss, the way she breathes into his mouth and pulls herself closer. They stumble back together, moving in an uncoordinated tumble, falling sideways into the nearest wall, Natasha with her back pressed against it, Bruce’s weight against her.

She hisses, her bullet wound pressing into the wall through the bandage, and Bruce pulls back in concern, brows knitted together and lips swollen.

“Shit,” he says, voice thready. “Are you okay?”

Natasha takes stock of herself, focusing in on the dull throbbing of her shoulder but feeling no fresh blood. It stings, but she knows she hasn’t pulled any stitches.

“I’m fine.”

Then she twists, moving them a foot to the right where she winds up pressed into a corner, in between the edge of the refrigerator and the wall, giving her somewhere to lean while relieving the pressure from her shoulder.

She reaches for his face and brings his lips back down to hers again, kissing him with ardor. Bruce wraps his arms around her, one hand skimming down her back, fingertips trailing along her spine and finding the thin strip of exposed skin below her t-shirt. Natasha arches against him as Bruce’s hands work their way under her shirt. Natasha trails her hands down, along his biceps, across his chest, down to his waist. She moves her hands beneath his shirt and runs them up along his abdomen, his muscles tense beneath her searching fingers, and she decidedly pulls the offending garment up and over his head, tossing it across the room.

Natasha takes a moment, breathing in deeply and glancing up at Bruce, meeting his eyes and finding that he’s staring at her with an expression of mingled wonder and desire.

He lets out a long breath, gaze unwavering. “Natasha…”

Bruce looks like he wants to say something more, but he waits a moment too long, so Natasha shakes her head minutely and draws him into another kiss. She doesn’t want him to talk, doesn’t want anything to break this spell and ruin this moment. It’s not what she pictured months ago, how she thought this would all play out originally, but Bruce’s lips are rough and hot against hers, and his tongue is in her mouth, and his hands are running along the skin of her hips, and she’s pretty sure this is the most turned on she’s ever been. And they’re only _kissing_ for fucksake. She doesn’t want any outside factors that could stop this moment because it is _so so_ good, and it’s Bruce Banner, and she’s thought about this too many times to count.

Then Bruce reaches up under her shirt to cup her breasts, and she’s suddenly grateful that she didn’t bring a spare bra with her and that her sports bra from the mission is still air drying in the bathroom. She lets out a moan when he circles her nipple with his thumb. And it’s good, it’s so good, but it’s not enough, so she pulls away by a fraction and pulls her shirt over her head, throwing it away from them. He leans into her, pressing a long, closed mouth kiss to her lips, then trailing his mouth over to her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth for a moment, then kissing his way down along her neck. Natasha reaches down to grab his ass through his pants, and Bruce presses into her. She can feel him hard against her, and she grinds into him, relishing the quiet groan he lets out against her shoulder. He pulls back, taking a few deep, calming breaths, and Natasha looks at him carefully, keeping her hands to herself for a moment, noting the sudden tension in his shoulders.

“You okay?” she asks quietly after a long moment.

Natasha’s not seriously worried; she knows he won’t hurt her, that she hasn’t pushed him to his limits and that there’s no real danger here. But she knows Bruce is feeling out of control, accelerated heart rate and all, and she watches carefully as he calms himself.

She’s about to ask if he wants to stop and sit down, but now he’s found his center again, so he leans in to press his lips to hers once more. She threads her fingers through his hair and brings his lips back down to her neck, and he bites down lightly on the junction between her neck and shoulder, and she lets out what she thinks may have actually been a whimper. Then Bruce is angling his head, kissing his way down and across her breasts and pulling one of her nipples into his mouth while taking the other between two fingers.

He’s more confident in this than she thought he’d be, than she’d expected he would be for someone she thinks likely hasn’t had sex in years, but she supposes she probably should have expected it. They’ve always communicated best through touch, after all. Bruce has her panting against him and clutching at the wall beside her in a matter of minutes. He spends a good few moments on her breasts, sucking and caressing the tender flesh, then he leans down and kisses his way down her stomach, falling to his knees before her.

He reaches for the tie of her pants and tilts his head up to look at her. She gently pulls her fingers from his hair and reaches for the drawstring herself, shoving the sweatpants down to pool at her ankles, leaving her in a pair of his boxer briefs she’d snagged from a drawer in his room last night. Natasha thinks she hears him chuckle under his breath at the sight, but then he’s pushing them down, and she doesn’t give it another thought when Bruce trails one hand along the inside of one of her thighs, his lips fluttering against her other. She moves her hands back to Bruce’s head, weaves her fingers through his unruly curls again, and makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat when Bruce presses his lips ever so lightly to her clit, making her pelvis jut out toward him beyond her own accord.

He grips one of her hips with his hand and presses her ass gently against the wall, keeping her in place. Then he licks a stripe up her clit, and she’s left without thought, moaning loudly and clutching at his head with her hands, trying her best to resist the urge to pull his face closer.

Bruce is good with his mouth, Natasha is learning quickly, remembering the urgent feel of his lips against hers, of his tongue in her mouth and the way it’s now deftly circling her clit. Natasha shudders against him, can feel the tension in her thighs and the heat coiling in her stomach, and she’s lets out a moan when Bruce increases the speed of his tongue and moves a hand in between her thighs behind his mouth, swiping lightly against her entrance with his fingertips. She moves her hips in tiny circles against him, urging him on, and he presses a finger inside her, thrusts and crooks it and adds a second, his tongue circling her clit in time with his fingers. Natasha lets out a gasp when she comes, throwing her head back and sinking into the corner between the refrigerator and the wall as Bruce gently brings her through the orgasm with his mouth.

She knows this was probably a mistake as soon as she’s recovered enough to have cognizant thought, still slumped against the wall on shaky legs. She _should_ regret it. Natasha’s not stupid enough to assume that this has solved any of their problems, that their situation and relationship is now fixed and solid. In fact, none of their problems are really solved, at all. Bruce still doesn’t have enough control to feel comfortable going back to New York with her, and Natasha can’t stay here forever. Steve and Nick both know she’s lying low in recovery, but they’ll be expecting her back soon enough. She has responsibilities. Responsibilities that she willingly signed up for and that she genuinely, truly loves. Ideally, he’d come with her, come back to her and to the Avengers and learn to be part of the team again. But things aren’t that simple, and he’s not ready for that. He doesn’t want that life, but it’s the life she’s chosen. She can’t stay here indefinitely.

Well. It’s not that she _couldn’t_. She’s capable. If she called up Fury and Rogers and told them she was out, then disappeared without a trace, she could stay gone. They’d have to leave Fiji and go somewhere else, but they could manage. She knows how to stay undetected. It’s what she’s best at. But she doesn’t want that life of running. She’s spent her whole life running; she doesn’t want more of it.

She knows she shouldn’t have allowed this, but she’d wanted it for such a long time, had thought about it so many times, wanted nothing more than Bruce Banner pressed up against her and bringing her off however he chooses. But it won’t work; they won’t work right now. They’re still not in the same place, even with her here. He’s not ready for them, and this will just make the inevitable parting even more difficult and painful. Natasha thinks she probably really should regret it, but then she’s looking down at Bruce who is gazing up at her with dark pupils and a heated, satisfied expression on his face, and she thinks _fuck it_ . Just... _fuck it_. It’s not going to work, not going to have a happy ending. She’ll have to leave, and she knows he’ll stay. But she wants him. She wants to have this, even if it’s just for a few stolen days, even if they do have an expiration date that is very rapidly approaching.  

Natasha looks down at him and smiles, exhaling a laugh, and she slides down the wall, mindful of her shoulder, and collapses in a tired heap on the ground in front of him, bare ass against the cold tile. Bruce shifts to sit beside her, wincing as he does, and Natasha considers that the tile must not have been easy on his knees. He pulls her to him, and she rests against his side, head on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around her.

She thinks back to a time months prior, long before Ultron when she’d first realized she was falling for Bruce. She’d had a nightmare that left her rattled, and Bruce had found her in the kitchen of Avengers Tower where she’d proceeded to nearly choke the life out of him. It easily could have led to an incident, but instead they both collapsed to the floor and proceeded to talk to each other on the floor of the kitchen for several minutes, staring at each other from a distance.

Bruce interrupts her thoughts with a little chuckle.

Natasha furrows her brows, turning her head to look at him inquisitively. “What’s so funny?”

He responds, voice dripping with nostalgia. “I was just thinking that we seem to have a thing for kitchen floors.”

Natasha laughs loudly, genuinely amused. “I was thinking that too.”

“Not the most comfortable of choices, on our part,” he says, pulling her tighter against him.

She nods her agreement. “My ass is freezing.”

Bruce laughs. “Wasn’t particularly pleasant on the knees, either.”

Natasha looks across the room, past the kitchen into the open living room beside them.

She waits a beat, then asks, “Couch?”

“Good plan,” he agrees, and they both shift to stand. Natasha pulls the boxer briefs and sweatpants back up her body from where they remain pooled around her ankles. They move to the couch, neither of them bothering with a shirt.

They sit in a tangled heap, legs intertwining, and Natasha grabs the blanket loosely draped over the couch, tugging it onto them to cover their torsos. Natasha can feel him against her, still half-hard, the sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest probably not helping matters. She gives him a sympathetic look, but he shakes his head minutely. There’s nothing they can do about it; he’s too worried he’ll lose control if he tries to take things further, and maybe he would. He doesn’t want to risk it, and she’s following his lead. But he doesn’t seem to mind all too much anyway, based on the expression of contentment on his face and the way he tucks her head under his, pressing a light kiss into her hairline.

They spend a while just lazing on the couch, sharing space and the occasional kiss and reveling in the fact that they’ve achieved some peace, that they’re finally feeling comfortable in each other’s presences again. _Quite_ comfortable, apparently.

Natasha half-doses against him, tired from their fooling around in the kitchen and from lack of sleep the past week and the fact that she’s still healing. She stirs when Bruce moves, reaching for the laptop on the table in front of them and opening it, clicking a few buttons and leaning back again. Natasha looks at him curiously, then back at the computer screen.

She grins.

Bruce has put on a movie. More specifically, _Gone With the Wind_. They’ve watched it together before once, back in Avengers Tower not long before Ultron’s attack and Bruce’s departure, though they’d both fallen asleep halfway through the movie. It’s one of her favorites, but she hasn’t seen it since then. She hasn’t had it in her.

Bruce shifts, settling back into the pillows, and says quietly, “I downloaded it months ago but haven’t had the heart to watch it.”

“I haven’t watched it since, either.”

They settle back and enjoy the movie. Natasha finds herself drifting off a little over an hour in and doesn’t bother to fight the summoning exhaustion. She’d been up searching for signs of HYDRA for 24 hours before the gunshot, and good sleep is hard to come by for her. But she thinks she’ll sleep just fine in his company.

She wakes two hours later with a growling stomach. She can hear the movie in the background, and she blinks her eyes open to see Bruce still watching the movie with an arm wrapped securely around her.

Her voice cracks a little with sleep when she speaks.

“I’ve got to stop sleeping through this movie. It’s a good one.”

Bruce chuckles, and she can feel the rumble of his chest beneath her.

“Hungry?” he asks a few moments later.

Natasha nods. “What’d you buy earlier?”

Bruce reaches forward and hits the spacebar to pause the movie, then stands.

“Let me see what I can make,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

She follows behind a moment later, blanket slipping to the floor. She heads into the kitchen and it takes her a moment to find her shirt, which is hanging off of the tea kettle on the stove. She pulls it over her head and finds Bruce’s shirt on the floor beneath it. She tosses it at him when he opens the refrigerator. He sticks his hand inside the door for a moment, feeling around. He turns to her and frowns.

“Problem?” Natasha inquires.

He looks equal parts frustrated and amused.

“I think we broke the fridge.”

Natasha snorts.

She starts on dinner while Bruce grabs his tools to fix the refrigerator. It takes him a good thirty minutes, but the damage is repairable, at least. Apparently they’d shaken some piece loose during their earlier exploits.

Once they’ve eaten their weight in food, Natasha is yawning.

“Still pretty tired, huh?” Bruce asks as they finish up the dishes.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I think I want to go to bed soon.”

“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep, anyway? Beside last night.”

She tilts her head in consideration, unsure.

“Last week, maybe? Week before? Night before last was definitely sleepless.”

Bruce sighs, shaking his head. “You should get some more rest. You’re still recovering.” He looks at her guiltily. “I should probably change your bandage again.”

Natasha nods. “Probably.”

He grabs the first aid kit from under the sink, and she tugs her shirt over her head again. Bruce peels back the bandage carefully.

“How’s it looking?” she asks.

She hadn’t noticed any further damage earlier, but she hasn’t exactly double checked, either.

“Fine,” he replies easily, and he gently wipes at the wound and redresses it. “Already starting to heal.”

The words lay heavy in the air, though, because the mention of her healing serves as a reminder of their expiration date; she’s here to heal and recover, but she’ll be expected back in upstate New York soon enough.

She does her best to push the thought away, and she pulls the t-shirt back on as he puts the first aid kit away.

Natasha clears her throat. “So...think you and I can manage to share the bed tonight?”

Bruce gives her a small, rueful smile. “I think I can probably handle it.”

She takes a moment to revel a little in the thought that just yesterday they’d craved the distance of separate rooms, wanting the space from each other. Natasha wonders idly if this all a good idea, but she shakes her head and simply thinks again: _fuck it_.

Bruce pulls out a bag from under his bed when they enter his room and retrieves a toothbrush, still in the package, and he tosses it her way before putting the bag back under the bed. It’s his go bag, she thinks, just as she’d suspected.

“Thanks,” she mumbles and heads into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

She crawls into bed a few minutes later, climbing beneath the covers, and Bruce joins her after a few moments. She’s grateful that tonight she won’t be kept up all night by the scent of Bruce. Or at least, if she is, it won’t be such a bad thing. She can feel her lips curl into a hint of a smile at the thought. Her head hits the pillow, and she yawns when he carefully crawls in beside her, pulling back the covers and sliding into bed. He leaves a few inches of space between them, and Natasha wants to roll her eyes at the sudden tentativeness in him. She lets him know as much nonverbally, scooting closer and tugging him beside her.

Bruce grants her a smile, looking at her with a clouded expression, but he presses a kiss to her temple and turns off the lamp on the table beside them. He wraps an arm around her when he settles back onto the mattress. Natasha lays on her side, keeping the weight off her shoulder, facing Bruce. She scoots down an inch or two and tucks her head under his chin with a sigh, relaxing into him and feeling tension melt out of her she hadn’t even realized was there in the first place. Natasha yawns into his chest, and she feels him laugh quietly against her.

“Shut up,” she mumbles.

It only makes him laugh harder, apparently amused by her exhaustion.

“I’m healing,” she adds, voice muffled by his chest.

She can feel him nod, chin moving against the top of her head.

Bruce strokes a gentle hand up her spine, coming to rest just below the bandage on the back of her shoulder.

He presses a kiss into her hairline and whispers, “Get some sleep.”

She does, slipping away into unconsciousness in mere minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Going to try my hardest to get out at least one more chapter before Civil War comes out (aka before this whole story becomes one massive AU :P) so keep your eyes peeled. :)


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